


Aches And Pains

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion to 'Bumps And Bruises' - Face's perspective as he tries to get Hannibal to safety through a forest crawling with enemy soldiers, gradually realising that perhaps Hannibal wasn't the only one hurt when their jeep crashed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aches And Pains

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bumps And Bruises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/946859) by [loves_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books). 



> This is a companion to 'Bumps And Bruises', and is designed to fill in the blanks in that story by telling Face's point of view. It can be read as a stand-alone piece but will probably make more sense if you've read 'Bumps And Bruises' first.

One moment he was laughing with Hannibal in the back of their jeep, both of them keeping their voices low and their gestures as innocent as they could so they didn’t make their driver suspicious about their relationship. Face secretly thought Taylor might already suspect something, judging by the barely-disguised smile on the kid’s lips as he kept his attention on the winding road ahead. The mission was over and, while both he and Hannibal were still alert and on-edge, they had also been winding down and very much looking forward to some time alone together when they got back to base, travelling back in convoy with a second jeep behind them containing the rest of their exhausted team. But the next minute – 

The sudden explosion came out of nowhere, leaving them no time to brace themselves as their vehicle was suddenly thrown into the air, spinning wildly then rolling out of control over the side of the cliff. Falling, bouncing, the air filled with the sounds of crunching metal and the echoes of whatever had exploded. Landmine, perhaps, or even an RPG Face thought distantly as he tried to grab onto something, anything, rattling around helplessly in the back of the army jeep, the world turning over and over around him.

The rolling seemed endless, and at some point Face had all the air knocked out of him as he was thrown hard over one of the back seats, then something heavy hit him in the stomach, something that might have been one of the metal storage boxes. No sounds from Hannibal or Taylor except for a few pain-filled grunts, then a particularly hard crunch sent Face up in the air, weightless for a long and dizzy moment as the jeep continued on its downward path.

Before he knew quite what had happened, Face found himself lying face-down in the dirt, fallen branches crushed beneath him sticking painfully into his chest and belly. “Hannibal…” he gasped, trying immediately to push himself to his feet, ignoring the aches and pains that tried to make themselves known. He couldn’t quite take a deep breath, not yet, and for a second his vision wavered sickeningly until finally it settled, and he managed to sit up enough to see where he had fallen.

He was more or less at the bottom of the cliff face, and he guessed he’d been thrown clear of the jeep as it bounced to its final resting place, another twenty metres or so into the beginnings of the thick forest he could see all around him. “Hannibal! Taylor!” he gasped, trying to shout but still not quite able to take a deep enough breath, diaphragm refusing to move down into his throbbing stomach, but he pushed up to his feet anyway, blinking away the dizziness as he took in the wreckage of the jeep in front of him.

Ominous smoke rising from the crushed engine, shattered glass all around the crumpled metal body. The vehicle had come to rest upside down, and as Face managed to stagger closer he could make out Taylor, still belted into his driver’s seat, the windscreen shattered into a million pieces around the young soldier. And blood. Far too much blood – even before he reached carefully in to feel for a pulse, Face just knew the kid was dead, a jagged piece of glass still protruding from a pale neck.

A small explosion from the engine above his head sent Face scrambling backwards away from the cab, and he was suddenly aware of the hiss of a damaged engine, the drip of diesel fuel onto dry leaves. Fire, now, dark smoke rising straight into the air, the flames terrifyingly bright in the dimness of the early evening.

“Hannibal!” he called, scrambling around the side of the jeep, his voice louder now even as he coughed in the smoke as it grew thicker around him. The whole jeep would most likely go up in flames very quickly, and he had to get to his colonel before that happened. “Can you hear me, boss? Answer me, dammit!”

Still no sound from the back of the jeep, and the twisted metal didn’t offer an easy way in, while the darkness inside gave him no chance of catching a glimpse of his trapped lover. Face kept shouting as he heaved at the crumpled doors, painfully aware of the flames growing larger from the engine. Twinges of pain from his stomach were easy to ignore as the damaged vehicle finally gave in to his desperate heaves, and the door suddenly swung open, dumping Face on his ass for a second before he was up and moving again, sucking a last breath of relatively clean air before plunging into the back of the jeep.

“Hannibal!” Thankful once again for his sniper-sharp vision, Face spotted his lover’s familiar bulk almost immediately in the smoke-filled darkness, crumpled against the far wall of the jeep. He was still, too still for comfort. “Hannibal, can you hear me? Come on, boss, talk to me!”

A pulse, thank god, thundering fast and strong beneath Face’s fingers as he pressed them carefully to Hannibal’s neck. A low groan from his lover, barely audible over the crackle of the flames from outside, and Face knew he had to get the man out of there, as quickly as he could. He hesitated for a long moment, not knowing where Hannibal was injured and reluctant to cause him any further pain, one hand cupped gently around his man’s cheek. 

“Please…” he whispered, closing his eyes for a second, before starting again to try and wake Hannibal up. They had a minute, maybe, though no longer, and if there was anyway the colonel could help get himself out of the wreck – “Hannibal! Open your eyes, damnit!”

And Hannibal, miraculously, groaned again and moved his head ever so slightly. Face pushed away the panic and pain thrumming through his body as he threw himself into waking the older man and getting him out of the jeep, one way or another.

* * *

As the night grew steadily darker, the moon and the stars shone through the canopy of trees above Face’s head. On any other night it might have been beautiful, romantic even, but there was nothing even remotely beautiful about the situation they were in. He’d managed to haul his lover out of the wreckage of their jeep, dragging the limp body into the trees just seconds before the whole vehicle went up in flames with a surprisingly soft ‘whump’ rather than the huge ‘bang’ he’d been expecting. But Hannibal hadn’t woken since, not even when Face had made a quick assessment of his condition, desperate to see what injuries were hidden beneath the civilian clothing his lover wore.

Back in the darkness of the jeep, Hannibal had complained weakly of pain in his hip and leg, as well as his head, and Face could certainly feel swelling all around Hannibal’s left side, though he didn’t think the joint was dislocated, nor the leg broken. He’d managed to grab one of the small emergency packs from the back of the jeep as he’d gotten Hannibal out, relieved to find a flask full of water and an emergency blanket among the supplies when he opened it, flares and ropes as well, though sadly no first aid kit. Getting back into the burning vehicle wasn’t even remotely an option, so he’d had to settle for splinting his colonel’s leg and using the man’s own belt to act as a rough pelvic brace, just in case Hannibal had suffered further injuries Face couldn’t see in the moonlight.

Face’s fear of internal injuries was very real – no first aid kit in the world would help if Hannibal was bleeding internally, a strong possibility after their long and bouncing roll down the cliff – but he managed to push the thought aside as he quickly made a stretcher of sorts for his lover, careful to support Hannibal’s head as he eased the taller man back down and bundled him beneath the silver foil of the emergency blanket. There was a nasty lump behind Hannibal’s left ear which had bled freely though thankfully seemed to have stopped now, and again Face pushed away the thought of a serious head injury. He was doing all he could, after all, in the darkness of a forest with an enemy doubtless bearing down on them.

The militia would certainly have seen the explosion as their jeep went up in flames, and they had almost certainly been the ones to set the trap that had sent them over the cliff in the first place. Face knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he had to keep moving, had to hide from them – their team’s recent mission had hurt the local militia badly, killing their leader and effectively ruining their drug dealing empire, and they wouldn’t hesitate to torture and kill two Rangers if they got their hands on them. Hannibal was clearly in no shape to help, which meant it was down to Face to get them out of this mess. And he would, one way or another.

No way to carry Hannibal through the forest, not with the colonel suffering from a possible broken hip and potential internal injuries. No way Face thought he could have managed it even if Hannibal hadn’t been so badly hurt – the adrenaline coursing through his own body right now was masking a lot of his own aches and pains, but he was certainly aware he had taken some hard knocks in the crash, especially across his stomach, though all the twinges were manageable for now. He’d kill for a really hot bath, though, to soak and soothe his aching muscles.

No time to wait for Hannibal to wake before moving, and in fact it might be a blessing in disguise to have the other man unconscious once they started moving across the rough ground and through the forest. “Time to get going, boss,” Face told the still form of his lover, checking the straps around Hannibal’s chest and legs one last time, tucking the blanket a little tighter, hoping Hannibal wouldn’t go into shock. “You all snug there?”

No reply from Hannibal, as predicted, and so Face gently brushed his fingers through his lover’s short hair before taking a firm grip on the handles of the stretcher by Hannibal’s head. The best he could do given the supplies at his disposal, and he planned to drag the stretcher a reasonable distance before returning by himself to cover their tracks. In the darkness he might get lucky, and the militia might not be able to follow them, though if they were still in the forest come morning Face knew they would be a far easier target. Only seven hours or so until dawn. 

Gritting his teeth, feeling the twang of pain in his abused stomach muscles as he pushed to his feet, Face started the long drag away from their burning jeep. “Better get comfortable, John,” he found himself whispering. “It’s gonna be a long night.” 

* * *

Face stayed crouching by Hannibal’s side for a long minute after his lover had fallen unconscious once more. Returning from his third trip back to try and conceal their tracks – a difficult challenge in the darkness of the forest – he had been thrilled to see the older man awake, though he’d also felt terrible that Hannibal had woken alone and in pain. Face should have been there, shouldn’t have left him alone for a minute. 

The colonel had been reasonably alert, thankfully, though he’d clearly been in an awful lot of pain and was very drowsy – Face strongly suspected Hannibal had a concussion, though his worries about other internal injuries had been eased, seeing that the worst of the pain really was in his lover’s hip and leg. If Hannibal had broken his hip, Face knew there was a very real chance it would end his lover’s career or at least sentence him to life behind a desk, though he tried to push that terrible thought from his mind. Hopefully it was all just bruising and muscle damage. It would kill Hannibal to be stuck behind a desk all day, and it would break Face’s heart to see it happen.

Even watching Hannibal slip back into unconsciousness, Face wasn’t too concerned about the head injury. It looked nasty, yes, but Hannibal had seemed himself, even apologising for not being able to stay awake. With a concussion, Face knew he should keep his colonel awake and talking, but he’d heard people in the forest behind them on his last trip back – militia, almost certainly, and he prayed he’d done a good enough job of covering up their tracks. If they were both on foot, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but the tracks he was leaving by dragging Hannibal on a stretcher were deep and obvious in the dry earth. Only so much he could do to conceal them, though he was trying his hardest.

His fears for Hannibal’s internal injuries were lessening, but he was fighting down the concern that he himself might have been injured more seriously than he’d thought. The ache in his stomach muscles was growing worse the longer he was up and moving, a sharp pain stabbing through his gut if he moved too quickly, and he’d had one terrifying moment of dizziness when he’d almost dropped Hannibal’s stretcher to the forest floor, the trees blurring out of focus and the shadows threatening to overtake him. He’d managed to keep it together though, lowering Hannibal carefully and kneeling down for a minute, letting his head hang low and trying to breathe deeply before pushing back to his feet. He had to keep going, now more than ever. Had to get Hannibal to safety, especially if the militia were starting to pick up their tracks. 

Talking of keeping going… He couldn’t stay crouched by Hannibal’s side forever. Taking a deep breath, tightening his arm around his aching stomach for just a second, Face climbed carefully to his feet and took hold of Hannibal’s stretcher once again. It was promising to be a long night, and he had to keep them one step ahead of the militia. Couldn’t let Hannibal fall into their hands just because Face had a few aches and pains.

He managed to get back into a rhythm of sorts, dragging his unconscious lover as fast as he dared, stumbling over the leaves and branches in his path, following a trail of sorts rather than pushing through the deeper undergrowth surrounding them both. It was a gamble, sticking to the trail, but Face hoped that he’d be able to go further and faster that way, and also hoped it would be easier to cover up their tracks. Three more times he eased Hannibal to the ground and hurried back along the trail, three more times he strained his ears to listen for the militia, and three more times he had to fight the growing pain in his stomach as he lifted his colonel back up again. 

Hannibal didn’t stir for hours, and Face was torn between waking him and just letting him sleep. It would be agony, surely, the feeling of being dragged along with a possibly broken hip, tied to a stretcher and helpless. But if the older man had a serious concussion…

Just as Face had decided he would have to stop at the next little clearing he reached and try to wake Hannibal, he heard the first moans of pain from the man on the stretcher. Swearing breathlessly, he tried to steady his pace, knowing they weren’t in a good place to stop, and twisted awkwardly to look down at his lover’s face over his shoulder.

Handsome features twisted in pain, obvious even through the dirt and soot on his face, though Hannibal’s eyes were still closed. A louder moan now, that silver-haired head rolling slightly on the stretcher.

“Easy, John,” Face soothed, cursing again as he stumbled slightly. “Lie still for me, just another minute.” But rather than sending his lover back into sleep, it seemed his words served to summon Hannibal back towards full consciousness, the pain-filled moans cutting Face straight to his heart. “Hang in there, boss. Just another minute and I can stop.” 

“…Face, please…” Hannibal’s voice was so weak, full of pain where usually he was so strong, and Face felt his heart skip in relief when he finally spotted a small clearing ahead of them. He could tend to his lover for a time, as well as getting some of his own strength back, and he threw everything he had into easing Hannibal the last few metres. A few minutes rest would do them both the world of good, surely. It had to.

* * *

Inevitable, Face thought with a dark chuckle, that the militia would catch up with them just as the morning sun began to climb over the horizon, and the shadows of the forest started to brighten. He’d heard the angry shouts growing closer over the last few hours, though thankfully the men seemed to be spreading themselves out in a wide arc rather than charging directly down the trail Face was still following. Perhaps they hadn’t actually picked up their tracks, but they were certainly closing in on the two Rangers regardless.

He’d been trying to keep up as fast a pace as he could, guiltily glad when Hannibal had passed out again as soon as they’d started to move – his colonel’s agony was heart-breaking, and knowing he had nothing to offer his man in the way of a painkiller was the worst feeling in the world. It made it easier to hide his own pain as well, not having to put on a brave face for his lover. Because Face was in trouble, he knew that for sure now.

His dizzy spells were becoming more frequent, bright sparks dancing at the edge of his vision, though thankfully he’d managed to keep moving, stumbling forwards down the trail and hanging grimly on to Hannibal’s stretcher. The pain in his belly had grown steadily worse, that stabbing feeling nearly constant now, and Face couldn’t deny the fact that he almost certainly had some sort of internal bleeding, probably from that heavy something that had hit him back in the rolling jeep, or maybe from being thrown out and landing so awkwardly in the branches.

Regardless of his own condition, Face knew there was no way he was about to let Hannibal down. With his lover injured and unconscious, it fell to Face to keep them both safe, and right now that meant creating a distraction or diversion to draw the militia away from them. At least it would work to his advantage that they were spread so thinly through the forest, but it would mean leaving Hannibal somewhere safe, concealed in the undergrowth.

The thought of hiding his lover and leaving him behind, in the path of the militia, made Face sick to his stomach, but there was no other way, no possible way he could take Hannibal along with him for this. Knowing he had to get the unconscious man away from the main track, he paused briefly to check his lover was secure on the stretcher before veering away into the depths of the forest. Moving as quickly as he dared, Face found a patch of low bushes that would provide decent cover, sliding the stretcher as far beneath as he could and reluctantly removing the foil emergency blanket from around his charge – the chances of some sort of reflection was simply too high now the sun was up, though without its protection Hannibal was at increased risk of going into shock. 

Pausing for only a moment, he dragged some loose branches and fallen leaves over Hannibal’s prone form, trying not to think of it as burial. He wasn’t burying Hannibal, Hannibal would be fine. This was temporary. It wasn’t a burial. It wasn’t.

Throughout it all, Hannibal didn’t even stir, and Face gave in to the urge to check his lover’s pulse one last time before covering up that noble head. A strong and steady heartbeat, thank goodness, and he moved quickly after that to make sure Hannibal was as hidden as he could possibly be, the increasingly loud shouts from the forest adding a sense of urgency to his actions. “Stay safe, John,” he whispered, before climbing back to his feet with a small grunt of pain and heading back to the trail, covering his tracks as he went. He didn’t say goodbye. He couldn’t.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he found he couldn’t even make out where Hannibal lay, and prayed he’d done a decent enough job to foil the militia, just long enough to let him set off a distraction and lure them away. Forcing his aches and pains back down into the depths of his mind, glad his dizziness had abated for the time being, Face took off running as fast as he could safely move through the trees, at right angles to the trail they’d been following. Running away from Hannibal, though of course he didn’t let himself think about it like that. The shouts of the militia grew louder, their angry words clear for the first time: death to the American spies, how incredibly original.

Face ran for as long as he dared, finding he could move through the forest far easier without Hannibal’s stretcher, though it would be easier still if the world didn’t keep tilting and spinning around him, and if the pain in his stomach didn’t keep stealing his breath away. A chance to put all his survival training to good use, making sure he wasn’t leaving an obvious trail, and for a second he remembered his instructors back at basic training, drilling him repeatedly in forest survival skills.

When the shouts became too loud to ignore anymore, it was the work of minutes to stop and set a swift trap before scrambling up into a nearby tree, hauling his aching body up into the branches as high as he could, and settling in to wait. He didn’t have to wait long, and it seemed luck was on his side – a single militia man spotted his trap, and stupidly didn’t call for help before moving closer to investigate. Face waited until the man was directly beneath him before dropping down from the tree like an avenging angel, and a swift struggle was ended quickly when Face managed to snatch the man’s gun away and smack him around the head with it before he could scream, ignoring the way his stomach throbbed in agony as he forced his muscles to cooperate. 

Face shouted something unintelligible to summon the others towards his location, giving vent to some of his pain and anger over the whole situation, and fired the gun into the air before taking off running again, stumbling over his own feet yet managing to find a straight line through the trees and bushes. Of course he didn’t dare go far, finding the next suitable tree instead and forcing his suddenly shaking arms to pull himself up once again into the thicker branches, pushing through them and trying hard not to pass out when one branch sprang back and struck him in the stomach. Reaching a safe point, curling up around his throbbing middle, he blinked away the tears that suddenly clouded his vision and watched the chaos beneath him.

He was pleased and relieved to see just how disorganised the militia really were. With no obvious leadership, the gathered men stumbled blindly through the forest shouting at each other, clearly not agreeing on the best direction to search in, almost fighting amongst themselves – it wouldn’t take much to bring them to blows, Face thought as he forced a smile through his pain, though at the same time it wasn’t ideal. He knew it would only make them more dangerous, especially if they did catch up with the two Rangers. They would be more likely to shoot first and ask questions later, leaving no time for the rescue Face hoped fervently was on its way to them even now. The great Hannibal Smith didn’t deserve to go out like that, injured and captured before being murdered in cold blood. 

He waited until the majority of the men had moved away from his tree, but he didn’t want to leave Hannibal alone for any longer than absolutely necessary. What if his lover had woken up, confused and alone, thinking he’d been abandoned? What if he’d heard the gunfire and thought Face was dead? Leaving Hannibal behind was simply not an option as far as Face was concerned – leaving any brother soldier behind would have been impossible, but leaving his lover was simply unthinkable. 

As the sounds of the militia finally moved off into the depths of the forest, Face braced his aching body to climb back down from his nest in the tree, gritting his teeth against the stabbing pains his movements awoke as he tensed his stomach muscles, trying not to cry out in relief as he finally reached the forest floor. Taking only a moment to force his body back under his control, he took off as quickly as he could in the opposite direction from the shouting men, back towards Hannibal. He knew he’d bought them some time, but he didn’t know how much.

“I’m coming, boss,” he gasped under his breath as he sped back through the undergrowth. “Hang on for me.” 

* * *

The morning seemed impossibly long, the scenery never changing, and Face really wished he had something to offer Hannibal in the way of a painkiller or a sedative, regardless of how dangerous that might be with the head injury. As careful as he tried to be, there was simply no way to drag his wounded lover through the trees without causing him considerable pain. He knew Hannibal was trying to keep quiet, knew he was drifting in and out of consciousness, but each near-whimper and hiss of pain cut straight through to his heart.

No time to stop and rest, no real chance to let Hannibal recover, though Face himself would have given anything now to just stop moving, to drop to the ground by his man’s side and curl up carefully around that powerful body until a rescue chopper appeared above them and hauled them both to safety. His own body was crying out for him to stop, his stomach screaming with pain, but he couldn’t, not yet, not until Hannibal was safe. Even if that cost Face everything he had left in him.

The best he could do for the injured man was try to listen out for the increasingly loud moans that told him Hannibal had nearly had enough. Not wanting to fuss over his colonel, knowing that Hannibal would hate that as much as Face himself would if their situations were reversed, when he thought his lover needed a moment of stillness he simply stopped, lowering the man gently to the ground, taking advantage of the chance to slip back along the trail and conceal their tracks as best he could. As the sun rose higher and the sky brightened, Face was more worried than ever that he wasn’t doing a good enough job at that, his vision blurring badly now – if that damn militia caught Hannibal because Face missed something obvious, he would never forgive himself.

The pain and the blurred vision were starting to become difficult to force down now, and Face was increasingly aware of just how badly he was stumbling over simple twigs and little holes in the path as his strength started to fade away, forcing him to jostle Hannibal as he lay on his makeshift stretcher. Face apologised each time, trying to force the weakness from his voice, not wanting his lover to worry about him. Tried to pick up his feet a little bit more. Hannibal couldn’t be allowed to know what was going on with him.

Hannibal was in so much pain already, Face simply didn’t want to cause him any more – nothing Hannibal could have done for him, even if he hadn’t been injured himself, so no reason to tell him just how much pain Face was in. He’d admitted to having bumps and bruises when his lover had pushed him for an answer, and there was still a slim chance that maybe that was all there really was wrong with him, maybe just bumps and bruises and aches and pains, combined with a lack of sleep and low blood sugar from not having anything to eat. 

It really could be just bumps and bruises and aches and pains. Maybe.

Or maybe not, Face thought, nearly biting through his tongue in an effort not to scream as he stumbled again and a spike of pain ripped through his belly and shot up his spine, nearly sending him crashing to the ground as his legs threatened to give out. Things were getting worse very quickly for him now, he knew that deep down in his heart, and there was still nothing he could do but keep going. He had to get Hannibal to safety before he ran out of time. Only so long he could force his body to keep moving when it was about ready to collapse. 

Where the hell was that rescue chopper? Face had to believe they were coming, he just had to believe that. He had a few hours left in him, he hoped, and that second jeep had to have sent someone to look for them. The thought that perhaps the other jeep had been ambushed too was something he couldn’t even let himself consider, not for a second. If no help was coming for them, then both he and Hannibal would die out here, either at the hands of the militia or from their respective injuries. At least they would go out together.

But not yet, Face thought grimly, gritting his teeth and tightening his grip on the stretcher as he stumbled on down the trail. It wasn’t over yet.

* * *

As the morning stretched on towards noon, Face was finding it harder and harder to hide his pain from his lover. Hannibal had looked so worried, even despite the obvious agony on his handsome features, as he had begged Face to stop for a few minutes, to lie down and rest. The urge to give in and do just that was growing stronger as his body grew weaker, but Face knew they weren’t safe yet. Hannibal wasn’t safe yet. 

Each time he’d gone back to cover their tracks, Face had been relieved to find he couldn’t hear the militia on their trail, though of course he knew that didn’t mean they weren’t out there. But then, on his last trip, he’d heard those familiar shouts for the first time in hours – their time was running out. Before he could push on and try to pick up some speed, he had to leave Hannibal’s side long enough to get more water. That was one of the hardest things Face thought he’d ever had to do, though he’d forced himself to smile and banter with his lover as they usually did. ‘He ain’t heavy’, indeed– if the militia were too close, if he’d waited too long to go for water, then he didn’t want Hannibal to remember him worried and in pain, so he’d smiled as much as he could. 

Still no sign of a rescue of any kind. But he had to believe they were coming. He just had to keep the two of them ahead of the militia until they arrived. And to do that they needed water.

As he retraced his steps, blinking hard and fast to clear his traitorous vision as the forest span sickeningly around him, he kept one arm tightly wrapped around his stomach. It didn’t help his pain, not even easing it a fraction, but it was instinctive and there was nothing else he could do. Damned internal injuries. In his other hand, he clutched at the gun he’d taken after staging his little diversion earlier – it had only been hours ago but it felt like a whole other lifetime, as if he’d been dragging Hannibal through the forest since the beginning of time. Only a handful of bullets in the gun, he’d found, but it would certainly be better than nothing if the militia caught up to him. 

He managed to clear his vision long enough to spot the signs he thought he’d recognised, stumbling down a slight slope and pushing his way through thick undergrowth until he finally found a tiny stream. Clear water trickled peacefully over smooth stones, the sun through the trees making the water sparkle, and for a second Face just stood in a daze, swaying slightly on his feet, thinking how beautiful it all looked. But in the very next moment there was renewed shouting from the depths of the forest behind him, shaking him out of his stupor, and he dropped heavily to his knees, fumbling off his backpack and tugging out the empty flask. Water. They needed water.

As quickly as he could manage, he filled the flask before lifting it to his lips in shaking hands, draining it in one long gulp. The icy cold water hit his empty, aching stomach and threatened to come back up immediately, but Face tightened the arm he had wrapped back around his middle and swallowed hard, forcing it to stay down. He couldn’t get Hannibal to safety if he passed out from dehydration. 

But the water felt like it was rolling around in his stomach as he staggered back to his feet after refilling the flask a second time, and the forest blurred around him as the trees suddenly seemed to be consumed in shadows, darkness threatening to descend on him. Throwing out a hand, Face managed to grab hold of a nearby tree as he fell back to his knees with a gasp, dropping his head low to rest against the bark. He couldn’t pass out now, he simply couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, not after he’d tried so very hard…

No idea how long he sat there, Face simply forced himself to keep breathing, blinking slowly to try and clear his vision, feeling tears of pain spring to his eyes but refusing to let them fall. Despite himself, a long groan slipped from his cracked lips as the agony in his stomach seemed to reach a crescendo. Definitely not bumps and bruises, he thought dimly…

Finally things seemed to solidify once more, the shadows retreating for a time and the pain easing enough to let him force his shaking legs to take his weight once again. He was running out of time, he thought muzzily, and yet more shouts from the approaching militia reminded him that he was in fact running out of time on two fronts. He had to get back to Hannibal. Had to keep going. Just a little longer now.

Just a little longer.

* * * 

The sound of the chopper overhead was one of the most amazing things Face thought he had ever heard in his entire life. Just as the militia seemed certain to catch up with them, just as the angry shouts had become so clear even to Face’s ringing ears, just as they started firing their guns into the air in warning – that was the moment the chopper arrived, and Face thought he could have cried with joy.

No time for that, of course, and he’d thrown everything he had into getting Hannibal a little further off the trail, hiding him as well as he could manage before searching for a clear spot to send up an emergency flare, knowing the chopper wouldn’t be able to spot them in the depths of the forest. Leaving Hannibal had been a little easier that time, knowing they were minutes from it all being over one way or another – either rescue or capture, if the militia saw his flare first.

But it was the Rangers who got to him, the chopper hovering a few feet off the ground as Face fell helplessly to his knees at the edge of the clearing, half a dozen men in combat fatigues immediately jumping out and running towards him. Even as his blurry vision started to fade out completely, he knew he had to hold out a little longer, had to tell them where he’d left Hannibal. Had to warn them of the approaching militia. Had to – 

“Lieutenant Peck?” A faceless soldier was suddenly kneeling in front of him, strong hands on his shoulders as Face tried to focus on him. “We’ve got you, sir. Easy now. Are you hurt?”

Shaking his head, Face managed to raise one shaky arm and gesture vaguely over his shoulder. “Hannibal…” he mumbled, coughing slightly to clear his throat. “Colonel Smith – he’s back there. And there’s armed militia…”

His warning seemed pointless, though, as the militia chose that moment to start firing in a more concerted and focussed effort. His failing eyesight couldn’t make out if they had actually found them or not – perhaps they’d followed the chopper, he thought numbly, as his rescuers shielded him before returning fire. 

The gun battle raged around him and above him, but Face found he couldn’t care. The urge to just give in to that tempting darkness was growing now, his body telling him it was alright to just stop, to give in, to give up. Enough, now, he’d had enough. He could rest at last, surely.

“Lieutenant?” Someone was shaking him, awakening that agony in his stomach once more, and with a low moan Face forced his heavy eyes to open, not remembering having closed them in the first place. “Stay with me, Lieutenant. Where is Colonel Smith?”

He had to swallow a few times before he could speak, coughing again, feeling something wet on his lips as he struggled to draw a deep breath. “Back there…” he breathed, waving his arm again, but someone caught his hand and held it tightly, even as another someone pushed gently on his shoulders, urging him down until he was lying horizontal on the ground, shadowy figures hovering over him.

“Where’s Jimmy?” someone shouted urgently, sounding very far away yet too close at the same time, and Face flinched despite himself. “He’s coughing up blood, doc!” 

A different shadow leaned closer and spoke directly to him once, and Face tried his hardest to concentrate. “Stay with us, Lieutenant. Can you tell me where the Colonel is? And the doc needs to know where you’re hurting.” Hands on his body now, patting gently over his limbs and his chest, moving carefully over his head.

Coughing again, Face managed to gasp his way through directions back to where he’d left his lover. All the little landmarks he’d been careful to memorise, the fallen tree, the bush that was brown rather than green, the natural crossroads in the trail… “He’s hurt worse than I am,” he coughed finally. “His head… and his left hip, his leg… On a stretcher…”

“Okay, Sir, easy now. They’re on their way to him. They’ll find him.” Something cool wiped over his mouth and his chin gently, but Face couldn’t see any more, couldn’t move, body suddenly too heavy for him. He should be worried about that, perhaps, but there wasn’t any pain now, and maybe he could sleep, but there was still Hannibal. There was always Hannibal. He barely felt the hands that probed gently over his stomach, though a distant part of his brain thought that maybe that should have hurt. The voices around him turned into wordless buzzes, urgency clear in their tone, and the shooting seemed to have stopped, so maybe he could stop too, but Face somehow knew there was a reason to hold on just a little longer. 

It wasn’t until someone spoke directly into his ear that he finally knew he could stop fighting. “We’ve found him, Lieutenant. Colonel Smith is going to be just fine – you both are. You did an amazing job. You’re both safe now.” 

And as the last of Face’s strength deserted him, as the darkness swept in to claim him, his last conscious thought was that at least he’d been able to save his lover.

* * *

As hazy memories of a burning jeep and a deep forest started to trickle back to him, as the deep darkness began to fade to softer shadows, Face tried hazily to take stock of his condition and his location. The soft beeps of equipment around him, the sting of needles in his arm, the uncomfortable plastic of an oxygen mask over his face… He had to be in a hospital, somewhere, and that had to mean he had made it. Somehow.

But had Hannibal made it too? Had Face been able to save his lover?

He hadn’t expected to open his eyes again, partly convinced he had fallen asleep for the very last time, vaguely remembering how everything had gone so dark as the rescue team hovered over him. He didn’t really want to open his eyes now, he thought muzzily, not with every muscle in his body hurting and his whole abdomen aching. It was a different kind of pain from what he remembered before, from that seemingly endless trek through the forest – this was the kind of steady throb caused by surgery and dulled by strong drugs, he knew that much from bitter experience, and that had to mean the rescue had been a success.

Rescue. Hannibal. Where was Hannibal? That was the thought that made Face try hard to force his eyes open, but to his frustration he found he couldn’t manage it, couldn’t move at all in fact, body still too heavy and uncooperative. A groan escaped his lips, and immediately he felt a cool hand stroke across his forehead.

“Lie still, Lieutenant,” he heard a soft female voice murmur close by. “You’re going to be just fine – you’ve had surgery on your stomach and liver, but it all went very well.”

“…Hannibal…” he managed to croak, and the gentle hand moved to his cheek, just above his oxygen mask.

“Colonel Smith is in the next ward, Lieutenant, perfectly safe – nothing seriously wrong with him except some nasty bumps and bruises. He’s awake and asking for you.” Bumps and bruises, thank goodness. Aches and pains and nothing broken, he assumed, even as he managed to grunt in response, feeling the pull of drugs coursing through his system and threatening to send him back to sleep. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea… That soft female voice seemed to agree; “Rest easy, soldier. You saved him.” 

He’d done it. Hannibal was safe. Nothing else mattered. And Face let himself drift back out again on a tide of painkillers, those cool fingers soothing him back into a dreamless sleep.

He woke next to a warm hand resting gently over his, a familiar hand he knew as well as his own, a blessed touch he would always find a way to respond to even through the thick haze of drugs in his system. It couldn’t be, surely… But then he heard a wonderful voice, the best voice in the world. A voice that sounded exhausted and hoarse, but Face could tell there was no pain there now, where before there had been so much agony.

“I’m here,” Hannibal whispered, and Face tried to summon some strength, forcing his eyes open at last and rolling his head slowly on his pillow until he could finally see his lover there in front of him. Hannibal was lying flat on his back in his own hospital bed, an IV line in his arm, dark bruises visible on his face but skin clean of all that dirt and dust at long last. In his eyes Face could see a reflection of his own deeply drugged haze, but he could also see fear and worry in those blue-grey eyes he loved so much – fear for him, he knew, and he suddenly felt so very guilty for being the one to cause Hannibal additional pain.

Face managed to coax his limp fingers to wrap around Hannibal’s, holding on as tightly as he could, forcing a smile to his lips. It was so good to see his lover, and simply amazing that they had both managed to survive, but he knew how the older man thought. Knew Hannibal would be blaming himself for being hurt, would be blaming himself for not seeing that Face was injured.

He couldn’t stand for that, not when none of this mess was the fault of either one of them. Hannibal wasn’t responsible for anything that had happened after that jeep had gone over the cliff. That had all been Face’s responsibility. So much he needed to explain, so much to talk about, and no strength to even find where to begin. 

It took him a long moment to find his voice, but he eventually managed to breathe, “Sorry, boss…”

Face’s vision was growing blurry once more, but he could still see Hannibal frown, could still feel those strong fingers tighten around his hand even as his own fingers lost what little strength they had. 

“You saved my life,” he heard Hannibal say, that wonderful voice strong and determined now. “Don’t ever apologise for that, Lieutenant. I’m so proud of you, kid. We’re both going to be fine, I promise.”

So much unsaid, in that simple statement. So much they couldn’t say to each other, not in a military hospital, not with medics hovering close. But it was enough.

Feeling as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders, Face found he could breathe more easily, and he managed to nod once before his eyes suddenly slipped shut and refused to open. There would be time later to talk more, time to explain why he hadn’t said anything to his lover, but for now all that mattered was that Hannibal was there. And that strong, comforting hand held his until Face slipped back into the more gentle darkness of a healing sleep.


End file.
